


Through Fogged Glass

by gustin_puckerman



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Unrequited Love, and damian will realise he likes jon, jon will fall in love with another person, or something like that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-04 17:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gustin_puckerman/pseuds/gustin_puckerman
Summary: But honestly, arriving to an empty room where once he can just know Damian's somewhere in the manor and knowing now he isn't, it's — it nearly makes him willing to breach the very privacy he knows Damian's been seeking.But he won't, because Damian's been his best friend for so long.And, well. The fact he's half-in love with the man might not be helping, either.Or that one story where Damian goes away for a soul-searching journey to find who he is outside of his parents' legacy, Jon is left with an unconfessed love, and Damian comes back to see a few stuff has changed. This is the story of how two boys cope with miscommunications, clumsy romances, and coming-of-age silliness that are being told in drabbles.





	1. Through Departure

Damian tells him not to worry.

"I'm not," Jon tells him, but that's a lie. They both know it. Jon likes that they both know it. 

He still doesn't voice his outright concern, though. He knows he will in some shape or form later. So, he's fairly content with just sitting there and looking out towards the rising sun. Usually, these were the times Damian would generally drag himself to bed. It's amazing to reflect on how much and how long Jon's known Damian. He was ten when they first met. He was ten, too, when they first fought and eventually realised they would have each other's back. But he's sixteen now, and Damian's well on his way to being a twenty year old.

In Britain, he can even _drink_. 

Jon will probably never get drunk, but the idea of sipping alcohol legally is enthralling all the same. Mundane, maybe. Damian's always so fazed on how Jon craves simplicity and normalcy in routines despite being half-alien. It makes Jon smiles a bit as he remembers it.

Those were long six years, after all, huh?

"Where will you go first?" Jon ponders quietly and feels anxiety creeps on his skin like wounds couldn't for a long time. He hates being vulnerable like this, when he's aware he has steel-like skin. In an hour or two, his mum will text to make sure he's in school, but Jon couldn't bear the thought of knowing Damian will leave when he's not there to say his proper goodbye.

"I will let Goliath decide." Damian's voice doesn't sound as sad as the emotion Jon could detect tugging around his ribs. 

Like chains, they are, just pulling everything down. Jon thinks about the months ahead where he'll sneak in into Damian's room to not find his presence — _his warmth_ — there. He bets it'll get cold. Alfred may try to not let it be so, but Jon will know anyway. Why would it be warm without Damian? 

"Stop it. Of course I'll contact you. Father demands me reporting to him every month. I quite have reasons to believe he's already put about hundred of trackers upon any items I may bring." Damian sniffs confidently, his irritation clear on his face, but his words are kind. Gentle. Damian's grown so much the past year, puberty being nice to him than some. Aside from the small acne break he has when he's fifteen years old, Damian's been graced with an adult appearance many envy. His deep voice only adds to compliment. 

Meanwhile Jon — well, he's just a gangly sixteen year old who just happened to have a six-pack. How can he ever hope to even be _compared_ with Damian Wayne?

"You don't have to." Jon insists, though he doesn't mean it, and plays with the shoelaces of his worn sneakers. He can feel Damian watching his movement. It's a nervous habit, he used to inform Jon. Jon thinks it's just a habit. "You're finding yourself, right? Or whatever. You're in a soul-searching journey. I don't—"

"Jon."

"I don't want you to stray from what you're aiming to do." Jon squints against the orange sky which were inviting blue, and there's a calmness that calms with the arrival of the sun. His kryptonian side, maybe. It has always favoured the yellow star. "I don't want that."

Damian is quiet.

"Plus. If you concentrate more on whatever you're doing out there, you'll come back sooner, right?" At this Jon smiles, hopeful. The only thing that's more blinding than the sun right now, he thinks, might just be his love for his best friend. God, he loves Damian so much. It hurts him more than he cares to admit that it's suffering to know Damian will be gone. But it will hurt Jon more if he's the one to have kept Damian back.

"Perhaps." Damian concedes, his green eyes glinting at the morning rays.

He is beautiful.

Jon feels like crying.

"I'll be here anyways." He reassures, not crying, and grins.

An hour later, Damian leaves. It's nothing dramatic. They share a hug, Jon tells him to be careful, Damian snorts — but smirks — and he sings parting words to his father and siblings. When he climbs on Goliath, Jon knows he will never look back. As admirable as that is, Jon can't help but to hate him a little for it. 

(And if he cries a little after Damian could no longer be seen with the naked eye, then maybe it's not some dust getting caught in his eyes. Maybe.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by James Arthur's "Say You Won't Let Go" which is ironic, 'cause that's what Damian did. Lol. Thanks a lot for checking this out. So basically the idea I had for this story is just to write drabbles and hope I will miraculously arrange them in the chronological order because while I have the general idea of where I want to take the whole plot towards, it's the details in between that I'm trying to practise on. With that said, if you have any ideas for a drabble you might want to see me try, do leave it in the comments!


	2. Through Departure (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't planning on writing from Damian's point of view, but things got away from me. Hope you guys like it! I've also changed the title, which... didn't really change much in terms of the general plot of the story, which was just to focus on how much Jon and Damian really like or admire one another, but it's like they're speaking underwater and only some messages can be made out. So yeah. I tried wording them out in a way that it wouldn't give the plot away, but idk if I succeed.
> 
> Tell me if you think Damian likes Jon romantically or not. Evil laughter.

 

The day Damian leaves, he checks on a lot of things.

Weapons and foods, for instance, becomes a top priority quickly. He checks for medicinal equipment next, then clothes and devices that he may need in case of capture. Once he flies out about five hours away, Damian allows Goliath to rest. While most of the trip were planned, they were also not in some hurried schedule. Damian doesn't mind if Goliath may need a quick nap. 

Most prominently though, he stops to cut off every tracking devices he can find.

He thinks Grayson plants about five, two of which with help of Gordon. Drake plants about two, one even hidden in the supplies of food, and Damian wastes absolutely no time snapping in two. Todd tacks a surprisingly well-written note with a wrapped gift. Inside, Damian finds, there's fresh supplies of shuriken, which is curious, considering he wasn't even there to say his goodbyes. (Not like he was invited, but still.) 

The note says ' _Don't get killed, brat. Hope you like the toys. Jason._ ' with the word 'Red Hood' and 'Hood' and 'J.T.' being crossed like Todd, for a moment, wasn't sure of his own identity.

Maya even slips in a non-working tracker. He keeps this one. He knows she must've put there in case _he_ wanted to be tracked, instead. She's smart, that one. Damian recalls why he's grateful he's hailed her as a sibling.

The most surprising out of all is the fact Father, unlike Damian has speculate, didn't put any tracker at all.

He wasn't so keen on the whole trip after all — Father was easily taken by grieve (or rather, Damian would say, _anger_ ) that Damian was seeking an escape. He had thought the reason was perhaps he hadn't given Damian enough. Truth was, Father gave him so much more than he could ever document. But it wasn't about Father. Damian knows immediately stepping into adulthood meant he may very well take on the cowl Father has adorned for years. But who was he without his mother's teaching and father's guidance? Who was he, at all, if to be stripped of his blood of Wayne and Al Ghul?

"Soul-searching" as Jon says, and Damian smiles at that. Not too wide, just enough that as he stares at the ground where he's crushed the tracker, it looks serene. Or at least, that's what the painter side of him would like to believe — should he paint a self-portrait then.

But Jon wasn't wrong.

Funny thing was, when Damian have explained his intention to many (or was found out), Jon was the first one to stand there and not protest. In fact, he appeared as though he'd anticipated it. Solemn, but full of acceptance. Damian remembers that, in the heat of his anger from arguing with Father just an hour before, he had chose to ignore that look. 

Damian realises, for a while now, he has ignored a lot of Jon's looks.

He doesn't know what they meant. Sometimes Jon seems like he doesn't age at all from when he's ten. He may grow in height (their stature now matching despite him only having entered puberty), and have his muscles shape - but the blue in his eyes are bright, the lines of his smile is youthful. He looks like nothing in the world could possibly destroy, let alone touch, him. But sometimes, _just_ _sometimes_ , Jon looks forlorn. Faraway. Hopeful. Torn. Like he wants to say something so much, but nothing ever comes out.

Damian never knows what they meant, so he never asks.

As he sits there and readies for the continuation of the journey, he can feel a vibration in his pants. He fishes them out, and finds it irritating that he may have brought his phone along from habit. It's a rookie mistake - Damian is certain he will not do it again. Yet, just before he can get rid of the card inside, he finds the source of the vibration. A message. Five actually, in the span of his groaning and overall disappointment of himself, from Jon.

 _Jedi Jon  11:23AM_  
Got 3 hrs wid Grumpy Gibson 2day!!! I swear he wnts me out of his class bc he thnks I'm after her dotter D:

 _Jedi Jon   11:23AM_  
It's not my fault Alicia paid me ten dollars @ the kissing booth :(((((((

 _Jedi Jon   11:23AM_  
I know ur shutting your phone and won't reply but...............i miss u not getting up on mbutt abt my spellings

 _Jedi Jon   11:24AM_  
Hope u hvent exhausted goliath alrdy :///

 _Jedi Jon   11:24AM_  
Stay safe

Damian knows he won't reply. He can't. One of the most important goal he's trying to achieve during this whole journey is to strengthen his self-preservation. If he starts commenting on Jon's antagonistic Chemistry teacher, or why did his school even bothered with a kissing both, or listing all of Jon's spelling mistakes, or tells him about Goliath really liking the small lake they found, or that he will stay safe and he hopes Jon does too, he won't stop.

But he holds everything in, and he can see Jon's sad face in his mind. Smiling, always, but sad. Always sad.

"I... miss you too." He whispers, and throws the simcard into the lake.


	3. Through Vanilla Twillights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight me but Jon's the cheesy person in the group who still worships Owl City.

Damian says he'll contact him, but reality's tougher than that.

Jon knows, realistically, with how much he's been following on Damian while he's meticulously planning the trip months beforehand, that Damian has a very strict regime where he's intending to minimise any contacts with his father, his family and, extensively, to whatever group of friends he manages to gain over the few years. Unfortunately for Jon, such conditions may include himself.

Damian says he'll call Jon — or at least messages if time constricts it — but it wouldn't be often, nor would it be soon.

Jon knows, with how much his power have been strengthened over the years since he was ten, that he could close his eyes, concentrate, and would be able to find Damian in the sea of billions living on Earth. It wouldn't be easy, no — the largest area Jon has had to scan something were Singapore, which is a fairly small country to begin with — but if he puts his mind into it, Jon knows he can pull it off.

He might suffer a headache too, a nosebleed if he isn't careful (he may be invincible most of the time nowadays, but even some moments his kryptonian DNA loses against his very human side), but honestly, arriving to an empty room where once he can just _know_ Damian's somewhere in the manor and knowing now he _isn't_ , it's — it nearly makes him willing to breach the very privacy he knows Damian's been seeking.

But he won't, because Damian's been his best friend for so long.

And, well. The fact he's half-in love with the man might not be helping, either.

So, it's not surprising to find some evening he still tracks himself to Damian's very well-made bed and lies there. When Jon closes his eyes, he can still pretend Damian is sitting on the floor somewhere with archival materials around him and a few holograms opened up on some cases he's been updating himself on. It's the only few times Damian would carelessly disregards any attempt at "sitting appropriately" on some chair with tables, when he's working on cases. Otherwise — reading a book? On a chair. Replying to whatever it is he replies to when he's on his phone? Always leaning back on something. Damian even spends a few months shadowing his father in handling minor Wayne Industries records (before trip consumes his concentration), and every time he does, he would've done so with all of the papers spread on the mahogany table.

Now, every damn thing in Damian's room looks pristine - untouched.

Not that it wasn't before (Damian's a surprisingly neat fellow, though Jon's not all that surprised), but fact remains: it's one thing a clean room while the occupant is present, and there's another when it's just a clean room and Jon's laying there, eyes on the screen of his phone, staring at all of the 138 messages he's sent Damian which went unread.

In the headphones blaring his Spotify playlist, Jon hears the familiar lyrics hitting him square in the chest:

_And I'll forget the world that I knew_  
_But I swear I won't forget you_

If he closes his eyes, Damian would shift right about now. Jon couldn't feel him from where he is, but he can hear it. Imagine it. The furrow between his brows, the way he sucks his cheeks a little when he concentrates. Damian's beautiful.

Jon's heart clenches.

"Master Jon." Sir Alfred, who doesn't age a day (Jon's debated Sir Alfred's alien of sort, and while Damian snorts, none of the bat family members have ever outrightly denied), comes about two hours later when the sun has sunk for quite some time now, and catching Jon right when his heart aches at the fact that he has to fly home sooner or later. Well. He's actually positively been sulking about it for twenty whole minutes now, but who's counting? "Dinner is served. Will you be joining us?"

Jon feels like laughing. 

Right. This isn't the first time he's caught in Damian's room. At this point, with the lack of alarm not sounding off, Jon should've suspected that Mr. Wayne and Sir Alfred have expected his presence at some point within the week. Sigh. Jon's pathetic.

"Yeah, I—I guess. I'll text mom."

"No need. I have informed your mother of your whereabout about an hour ago."

Now, Jon feels like crying.

Is that why Mom hasn't rung him once to ask him where he is? Or has she expected it too - that Jon will just be mopping in his best friend's room? Heck, maybe it's _her_ who rang Alfred and the butler's just merely answering an honest question. God. Jon wishes his phone would just — goddamn ring already. Or buzzes. He misses Damian so much.

 _Call me now_.

"I—I can make the bed, Alfred. So you don't — when he comes back, he'll..." He won't have a reason to pick a fight with me about it. "I'll make the bed."

Alfred smiles sadly, and nods.

Three days later when Jon somehow finding himself hovering outside of Damian's bedroom again, he sees a body is already lying down on it. At first, his heart leaps with hope — but Jon identifies nearly immediately that the height-weight ratio of the man in black-and-grey he sees is Bruce Wayne. For a split second, it's easy to mistake them as one. Mr. Wayne may be wider in size, but the curves of their shoulders and back are still the same. Even the way their hair is cut, the air they carry themselves - it's all a trait of a Wayne. Though apart from that, Damian's all Talia: dark skin, sharp eyes, full lips, and a slimmer figure. But Jon always notices the small things. It's what matters most.

It's been two months since Damian's been away. The only indication Jon has of him being alive is when Mr. Wayne would share his updates on what Damian would fax or encoded to him on a secure channel during dinner. Maybe that's the reason Jon ever considers staying for them. The dinners, he mean.

Or maybe because the manor suddenly feels too big and, like Jon, Mr. Wayne is starting to feel the emptiness from it.

Jon turns around and leaves.

* * *

Later, when he calls Dick (and, in extension, Miss Barbra), Tim and Cass up for a possible dinner that could be held at the manor once in two weeks, Jon can't stop from grinning at how they all have expressed their _yes_. Now to convince Jason Todd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Jon's possible ability to have scanned Damian among all of the people in the world is happily inspired by those panel of comics where Superman were able to smell somebody baking cookies while he's in outer space. And we all know Bruce claimed how Jon could beat his Dad in terms of powers even on Clark's best day.
> 
> (2) I love Alfred and I wish there are more interaction of Jon with the batfamily, so where canon has failed me, I hope I will deliver.
> 
> (3) Tbh Bruce is a big softie who would definitely fall asleep on his son's bed 'cause he misses him, and Jon hella empathises with this.


	4. Through Birthday Wishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if I messed up a batfam trivia, I didn't do it on purpose. Anyway. #JONDAMILIVES.

Damian celebrates his twentieth birthday somewhere in South of India.

It's amazing how people just looked past things over here — or, well, all over the world, really — but specially this particular part of the country. They've overlooked a gangly boy with piercing green eyes carrying a large beast with red fur on his toes, and they've overlooked starved orphans and terrified women cowering by the side of the road, covered in dirt and dust. Damian doesn't sit still, of course.

He leaves home to help, _to grow_. And that, he does.

Or, at least he tries to, however much he could. And even if he couldn't do much without disrupting the-already peaceful lives people've had there, Damian would at least be content to know he's picked up Tamil very well. He can even read the writings at considerably speedy pace for someone who've only spent there only six weeks. Not to brag. (Note to Jon: he _totally_ is.)

(Except not really, because, Damian would rather stab himself with a fork than allow Jon to see such a _pretentious_ side to him, which is known to be quite a negative trait — as he has been told repetitively — and Damian's grown, you see. Grown, at least, from the boy he'd been who was ugly and dark and hurting, all the time, though he'd never admitted it. And Jon knew this. Jon, for the most part, grew along with him. Hence, Damian could not possibly have all of that growth waste away for a few moment of arrogance. He mustn't. It wouldn't be proper. And Damian, as he learned in the lines of keeping up with Gotham's aristocracy since he'd been shoved into the role by Timothy that one time when he was fourteen and threw a champagne at an embarrassing and offensive foreign ambassador, is not anything if not proper.) 

( _Even_  if he's earned the right to brag.)

 _(Not all battles could be won with a knife fight_ , Timothy had told him, wiping at his hands that are stained by the sticky structure of the champagne, even though Damian could have very well done it himself. _Sometimes, and I know this sounds crazy - it's a fake smile that finishes a war_. Damian doesn't know why he started remembering this, but he remembers agonising for weeks to follow about what exactly Drake had meant. Once he'd figured it out, Damian wastes absolutely no time in perfecting the trait of pretending for the sake of publicity. It's exhausting and takes his energy, but when he sees the results working perfectly, he smiles.) 

(Back to the subject at hand: really, he's just making notes — _lists of them_ — in his head because there isn't much to do, not when he keeps glancing to his right expecting to see a red-blue themed hero grinning right next to him only to realise he's on his own, and that's, you know, kind of sad. And distracting.)

(So, to guarantee his focus,  _obviously_ , he'd needed to just forcefully acknowledge Jon mentally in occasions, is all.)

(He swears, that is all there is to it.)

But, point of the matter is, he's had his birthday quite uninterestingly. The sun was hot on his back, and Damian had spent at least a good _ten minutes_ negotiating on a price of lotions because Goliath's skin have started peeling from the intense heat. It wasn't bad, per se, but it was alarming enough that Damian had refused the condition to further suffer no matter Goliath seems intend in licking it in hopes it won't fester. Damian's never liked things being in a disarray. Of course, this one was an unexpected circumstances. Still: it had thrown him off from the routine he'd hoped to follow, and that never leaves him feeling good.

Fortunately for everybody, Damian is as efficient as he is determined. He secures the lotion quick, wearing down the man behind the counter, and off he goes to control whatever damage the world is content at throwing him.

There is a riverside near the area that merges into the woods. The further down the trail you walk, the more the village grows thin in the distance. That's where has Damian allowed Goliath to rest. As for him, Damian doesn't waste time staring. Never mind that he had - for the first five minutes. Seeing his reflection and the blotches of pink colouring an ugly shade across and down his nose while highlighting his unshaven face is enough for Damian to stumble back, _frowns_. Again, a state of disarray.

So, he picks up a knife, smears the lotion after deeming it safe, and shaves.

And he bathes, and he cleans.

And when it's over, Damian can see old scars and new marks over his unevenly tanned body in the reflection of the rushing river. He... _he's really grown_ , he thinks. He used to be smaller; no more taller than Bruche's chest. Perhaps even shorter. Jon used to make fun of his heights _so much_. (Note to remember: Damian outgrew him when he was fifteen,  _finally_ , until his window's closed rather drastically quickly because as it turned out: Kryptonian DNA gives Jon a lot of things, and being suddenly and awkwardly tall over the course of one summer is one of them.) But he's stood up high enough to meet father in the eyes now. And his mother, tall as she is... Damian have been physically looking down on her for quite some time, if he were honest. The first time he noticed it happening, Mother had crooned over. Said that he'd grown up to be the strong warrior she'd always hoped he'd become.

Damian remembers seething at that. _He is not her warrior anymore_. He is not anybody's, not even father's.

Though that isn't the point. 

The point is, upon his reflection, he realises that he truly _has_ turned twenty years of age. It's odd realising that.

(Note: Damian used to think he wouldn't have survived somehow when he was a child. Of course, he'd done everything he could to exceed expectations, to grow sharp and murderous like a weapon the line of Al-Ghul's desires. But imagining himself old and wrinkled had never been possible. Grandfather used to go on and on of a future where he will succeed him, but even growing out of the small body he had... it was never something Damian could possibly visualise. Possibly not even now, but, it's different. _He's_ different.)

(Another note: He wonders what else can be different. What else can never possibly imagine for himself somehow coming true in the future?)

(He has families. A standard 'acceptable' public education, which he's _suffered through thanks Father but please not again_. A best friend. Severals, actually. A sister he's found all on his own. And pets. Lots of them. All of things he didn't think he could've had, could've _thought_ to have, yet he's experienced them anyway.)

(Perhaps a lover? A strong pair of arms to pull him close and welcome him home—)

Alright. No.

Damian washes his face at last and replenish the water supply.

A week later, he receives a parcel, which, when he looks over the package and examine the stamps, have been through several places. At the sight, Damian smiles. As though he's amused, thinking how resistance the thing must be, to have shuffled and passed from country to country, yet it braves through the turmoil of the long journey, just to get to him. Inside, there's a drive containing an audio, lasting to fourteen minutes. It starts with Richard's voice, quick and bubbly, as he wishes Damian a happy birthday. And then he starts to sing — _horrible_ — until... the voice changes with the next lyrics, and Damian realises the first Robin might've bribed (or blackmailed) several people into wishing a musical wish of birthday's for him.

When it gets to Bruce, Damian snorts.

When it arrives to Maya, Damian rolls his eyes.

When the audio goes, "Oops, sorry! That was supposed to be Alfred the Cat's turn, but he isn't listening to me, bad cat!" which leaves Damian a little bit surprised because, well. It's Jon who's speaking. Has his voice gone deeper? Possibly. "No, no, I'm sorry, aw come on, Alf, ya' love me right? Of course you do, YES HE DOES, DAMIAN, BELIEVE ME." Damian chuckles, but he doesn't fall for Jon's failing attempt to be convincing. Alfred has a talent of ignoring everybody except Bruce. It's fascinating how he doesn't even spare Jon a chance.

"If you reached the end of this tape, it means you've heard it all. And yeah, Jon helped me on this. Look, I may be able to crack through several firewalls on top-notch facilities, but whatever fancy schmancy editing apps you youngsters are into are _way_ too overrated for me. Don't judge. Happy twenty, kiddo. Can't wait to have you back." Richard says, and Damian can imagine a smile there, at the end of the line, just before the audio goes buzzing, signalling the end.

He replays the tape five more times in a beat-up, off-brand Motorola MP3 he's bartered for an old watch and a pair of clean t-shirt.

(Note: Best thing he's ever traded.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly. Jon just uses Garageband???? He doesn't own any Macbook's though, but thank god Bruce purchased each for his offsprings. Dick only ever uses Safari though :/
> 
> Hit me up in the comments if you can spot the Jondami hints aside from the Alfred thing!
> 
> Leave a prompt too if you wanna? Like "I want a rain scene" or "I want Jon to burst out crying cause he misses Damian in the middle of watching the Kardashians" or whatever really! And honestly, I'd be down to write :)
> 
> Edited March 29 2019.


	5. Through Screens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for _desolationofzara_ , who has requested jon seeing damian's changes through a television screen. i don't think i've visualised it in the way that you hope, but i swear it's growing and leading into something bigger later!

It isn't always bad.

Jon knows, in some sad-but-sometimes-strangely-happy turn of event, that life moves on — regardless of who left, or who came by, or whatever disaster the world is facing. Buildings fall, earth shatter, cats just gets stuck in the tree. That doesn't stop his Mom from pursuing dangerous stories once she sets her mind to it; doesn't stop Dad for always stopping at that bagel place that opened up only a year ago every two days nearly religiously. 

As much as Damian had left a gigantic hole in his absence, Jon gets on with the programme.

He moves on.

He turns seventeen, joins a basketball club, is dared to taste beer and rejects it because he couldn't betray Mom like that, is deemed tall enough or have shoulders that are wide and could be passed off for a grown man's because the attendant at the movie theatre doesn't stop to ask for his ID when he accidentally walks into an intensely sexually graphic movie, watches his first sexually graphic movie that has potentially scarred him, joins Jason Todd's odd adventure of being an outlaw and gets scolded by Batman while he's at it, help his team win a few basketball tournaments, passes a few exams and gets a horrifying grade in English that's resulted in him reaching out for a volunteer tutor, and learn to like a new flavour of ice cream: Moose Tracks.

So he knows, when he picks up a brochure about a camping programme and how there are chances to be camp counsellors that could help contribute to his credits, Jon thinks it's an opportunity that he might want to take. 

Kathy doesn't think it's a good idea.

"Jon," She'd rolled her eyes when he had come to visit, and they're laying side-by-side on the field. The grass is cool under him, even when the sun is warm. Jon tries not think about the last day he spent, nearly a year and a half ago, with Damian before he went away. He remembers everything about that day. Remembers the new three-month-old scar he can see Damian sports just beneath his jaw to the left. "If you wanted a day out in the sun, you can just work on the farm _with_ _me_."

She has a point, but Jon laughs like she hasn't. "It's not _about_ that."

It's not about the credit, either. Sure, it'd be nice. Something he could put into his resume or his college application to make him stand out, but — Jon's lonely. Kathy is a great company. Maya is quick and friendly whenever they agree to meet and spar and catch a drink later. Hanging out with the Waynes and Jason helps him to not always slack off as Jon Kent. But Jon wants _more_.

Maybe he's slowly starting to understand now, why Damian did what he did. Why he left.

"I think it'd be cool. I've always wanted to go to a camp. I mean, it's not the same as _participating_ , but—"

Mom is supportive of the idea. Dad helps him research more on the place. It's a few hours' drive to the East, away from the City and far from Hamilton County. There'll be an open lake and trees that towers like mountains and hills to climb. Jon's always been with nature. He was, after all, a farm boy _first_ than he was any Super Kid, or the guy who has friends at his hip-and-fresh city. But he's never been with _this_ sort of nature before. It's a thing to contemplate. He farms and chases after chickens and dip his toes in creek whenever he could find them. This time, there is no open field: just miles of forest, and so many things that could be hidden in between.

"If anything happens, you'll know I hear you." Dad says, blue eyes meaningful behind his glasses, and Jon, who isn't particularly scared in the first place, feels like Dad must've never went a day with saying the wrong thing. At least, not with Jon.

Speaking of things not going wrong in some cases, it's like the world is testing him.

Not a week after, his laptop balanced on his knees as he tries to type in the application for the programme, probably looking every bit like Lois Lane three-days-before-a-deadline with how he's sipping a hot drink on one hand and frowning at the screen all the while, the tv — which was put at a low volume rather than muted — flashes something that Jon suspects have caused his heart to stop. Thankfully, he doesn't have a cardiac arrest. It was just Goliath.

The news is cut short though, when the reporter moves to the next story.

Jon is quicker. He abandons his laptop and reaches for his phone. A battered old thing, second-handed, but with a phone case that cracks the wall faster than it would crack the merchandise. It'd been an apologetic gift by the Outlaws when Arsenal had accidentally shot the original one. Every time Jon remembers it happening, he laughs. This time, he doesn't. He's too focused.

 _Man Bat Spotted_ , he googles, even when he knows Damian would gripe at him for calling Goliath so.

And there are hundreds. Thousands, maybe. All recent news. Six-hours old, tops. All in Mongolia. A man on a Red Fiery Man Bat are seen rescuing a whole land from a sudden fire attack that burnt a whole village. There're talks further: about what happened, how many lives were safe, if it was a natural cause or if it'd been planted. Jon doesn't care. _Well_ , he does, but — not particularly about that right now. He messages Dick.

_Did you hear?_

Dick's answer is quick. _Yes_. _Tim's dispatched any signals to see if Damian needed any extra help._

Then, as though reading Jon's mind, Dick adds: _Don't worry. Little Bat knows how to handle himself, Jon. He'll be okay._

Because Jon suddenly has an irritation at being treated like he's still ten (it's all Damian's fault, he wants to accuse. _If he's not here, I'm the one that's easily annoyed by things I'm supposed to be okay with. Dick just cares. What's so wrong about that?_ ) he answers quickly, the text going over like blurred small blocks before he sent them. _And if he needs help, he'll let us know_.

Dick's respond is simple. _Exactly_.

Jon sends out a message asking if Mr. Wayne's okay anyway, just in case, and begins to photo-analyse the grainy video and pictures splay across his small phone screen. It isn't enough. Damian is too quick and the fire is too big. But then, in that few second, just as he's flying away, Damian turns back to the crying villagers, and half of his face can be seen, and—

Jon swallows.

Then, slowly, he smiles. After a second, just as it starts, the smile turns into a beam. Wide and proud and gleaming.

 _It's not enough_ , and yet. His hair's longer, and he's grown wiry rather than wide-shouldered. Maybe he isn't eating as well as he should. Jon doesn't know. All he could think of is, if he'd touched Damian then, would he feel more bones than skin? Or are there the lean muscles he'd known so well?

 _He's out there saving people and I'm thinking of touching him_. Jon is ridiculous.

Still, he saves the photo.

Later, Mr. Wayne texts back that he is okay. He's heard of the news, and he's been assured that Damian is well and is taken care of as they speak. Jon tries not to think about what _that_ means, and only texts Mr. Wayne "OK" back. He almost always wants to say more — to ask Mr. Wayne to _ask_ Damian to return, maybe, to come back and never leave and be _Robin_ or _Batman_ or whoever else Damian wants to be, so Jon can be besides him like they always have since they were kids — but he doesn't. He never could. He thinks Mr. Wayne knows, anyway.


	6. Through A Surprise Visit

It hadn't been an easy week.

That much, Damian is willing to admit. At the very least, due to the sudden interference of Gotham's enemies out here in Sri Lanka, has given Damian a chance to reunite with Grayson. Father has even spoken to the both of them, though behind the mask as Batman and primarily doing a large part mainly back at their home country. Damian doesn't mind this. It's been a while since he's been a son. It is almost shocking, to slip back into the disguise of it though Father and him were not speaking as Damian and Bruce Wayne during the debriefing. Still, he notices how his own body stiffens around his shoulder almost automatically at Father's attention.

Even after years, it is hard to beat out the habit of being trained like a weaponised soldier by the Al-Ghuls.

He wonders if Grayson, standing next to him, notices. If Bruce does. He hopes not. And if they do, he wonders what they would think. Had they deemed him different, or just the same boy eager to be seen — and demanding so in a way unlike any ordinary child would ask of it?

If they had thought of anything, they did not say. In fact, once the dust has been settled, and Grayson's arm has been put to place. All he says is, "You're skinnier."

Damian merely flicker his eyes upwards. He does not reply. Instead, he is efficient in applying the herbal lotion he's been brewing the past two months since he's passed Philippines and had learnt religiously of the art of it. Seeing his younger brother not responding, Grayson merely smiles.

He has grown older. Much older than Damian remembers. There are new lines to his face - not from scars, but due to natural ageing. Damian wonders how could this be. He hadn't gone for too long. Until, snickering, Grayson interrupts his train of thought, "And you're growing _a_ _beard_."

"I _am_ _not_." He snaps, because he isn't. He just hasn't found the opportunity to shave. His jaw itches.

"Yeah, then what's this little thing here?" Grayson seems to be raising a hand to tug at his chin, and Damian is quick enough to break said body part. He chooses not to. He glares at it instead.

"Touch me, and it'll be the last time you've touched anything and feel, Grayson."

Grayson laughs at this. Mouth wide and his laughter deep. They never laugh loud, his siblings and he, Damian thinks. Hell, he hadn't laughed — ever — whilst living in the manor. Snickers and chuckles, sure. But an open laughter was hard to come by. Damian regrets it now. He's certainly laughed easier on the road and in small town and villages with cats and dogs piling the streets. Especially during a celebration; loud music and families dancing. He used to hate large crowds like that. It is suffocating and useless. He had never thought to just sit by and enjoy, however. Be unnoticeable that no attention are focused on him, but noticed enough that he's carried away, anyway, into the flow of the joy of people all around him.

He's never done that before around his family. Grayson will never know this side of him.

"I miss you, little bird." Grayson says once his laughter fades, eyes crinkling when he looks at Damian, and he doesn't have to lean down as much. They're looking eye-to-eye. They are shoulder-to-shoulder. Perhaps, Damian is slightly larger, even, if one would compare. He is no longer a _little bird_ , as Grayson has put it. In fact, he is fast approaching twenty-one. Five months away, sure, but fast. The world is only moving forward, never behind. No matter how much magic and speed are put into it.

"You are missed as well." _Every day,_ he doesn't admit, finally satisfied with the application of the lotion. By day break, Grayson is able to return to Gotham as per Batman's suggestion in a much better condition than the one he was in right after the battle is finished. He wonders if Pennyworth, overseeing Damian's treatment, would see that Damian has done an excellent job. He is curious to what sort of pointers and advice he could give.

"You can come home." Grayson's voice is small. Pleading.

When Damian doesn't turn his head as he's putting his medical kit away, he supposes Grayson understands his answer.

"Call Jon, at least. He—" A pause. "He misses you. More than any of us. He checks on Bruce much better than any of the batkids are doing, including me. I'd say B had practically adopted the kid, except I'm pretty sure it's the other way around."

Damian doesn't misplace when he arranges his things, does not stiffen when Grayson keeps on speaking. He _does_ slow his movements, though. His focus is immediately on what Grayson is saying; of the information pouring out as though it's details of missions that he had to be debriefed on. It isn't like Damian is not allowed the thoughts of his best friend. He thinks of Jon as much as he thinks of his family, of his mother, of Maya, and every body else that has entered his life and has refused to leave. But it's — so startling. How Jon is picked up differently, even in the narrative in his own mind, and is now in reality as Grayson repeats his suspicion.

Jon was... Never a family. He is unlike Maya, who is Damian's sister by choosing. Unlike the Bat Family, who is his true and adoptive family that he was given and had to live with. Jon is not an enemy, either. Damian has settled for him being a partner, then a friend. Though, argumentatively, Damian doesn't acquire friends. There was Colin, of course, who Damian may consider one.

Still, Jon... is different. Will remain different. The things he's known, the things he's learnt, the things Damian has allowed him to see and live the very next day. He is more than simply a friend, but he does not necessarily fit the mold of being Damian's family either — not even by choosing. There is a separation and grey area there that they have been content in keeping. Damian has never thought much about it before.

Now, he thinks about Jon's side eyes and lingering stares. He's no idea as to why, but it hurts suddenly, to recall that.

"I hear he has been spending too much time with Todd." Foolish choice. If Damian were there, he reminds Jon the reputation he's to uphold wearing the 'S' of his father. Is he really serious in running around with a bunch of outlaws who are not completely abiding by the rules of society? How would that have reflected Superman — and the rest of its branch — of its integrity?

"I guess he likes the difficult cases." Grayson smiles, shrugging a shoulder. Damian folds him a shirt that should fit. Grayson takes it. "You, Bruce, Jason."

When Damian glares, Grayson smiles some more — until he winces at an injury he must've disturbed. Good. "I'm _kidding_."

If Damian could've fiddled with the strings that are loose on his shirt, he would've. His training has made him eliminate any nervous habit, though. Damian places his hand behind instead. Clasped them together like he's staring Grayson down and openly judging. He isn't; not entirely.

Grayson doesn't seem to mind, looking up. Sitting at the edge of the bed in the three-star run down motel bed.

The sheet is clean enough. For the night, at least. Damian has slept on worse.

"I'm afraid if I begin seeking back any contacts of home, I'll be tempted to never stop." He admits finally, thinking of any time that Jon has been smiling at him genuinely before he left. He couldn't.

Grayson is quiet for a long time, one palm on his knee and grey eyes squinting upwards. Like this, it's as if the roles are reversed. Instead, Damian is under scrutiny. Chest open and bare and Grayson, leaned forward and expression judging. Damian hates the shift in power. He doesn't say it aloud, but he feels the irritation that comes with the realisation.

"I'm here and you're not coming back with me."

But he does not seek Grayson out. There was a crime that happened which somehow pulled the attention of his family. They met on the battlefield. If Damian started making phone calls that are not mission reports, he isn't sure what sort of dam will break. He is not certain he would want to risk it.

He thinks Grayson seems to understand this even without Damian saying a word. He sighs, nods, and pushes strands of black hair back with his fingers. "You have to give yourself a little bit more credit, Little D. If there were anybody with a stronger will in our family, it's you. You went for _more than a year_ without making personal contact with the people you love. I think if you did it once, like a cheat day, I'm sure you can go back to your regularly scheduled regime the next hot minute once you put your mind to it."

Damian's eyes are on the floor, considering.

"And—" Grayson's word is dragged. Grayson must have wanted his attention. He has it: Damian's green gaze are back on his eldest brother, and suddenly he thinks about Drake sporting Grayson's fashion in long hair. Parted in the middle and are always pushed back only for fountains of it to fall back down into their eyes. Only Todd seems sensible in his cut. And Cassandra. Perhaps, once Damian returns, he can ask for tips regarding hairstyle. "—changing doesn't happen on your own. Your loved ones... they can break you, as much as they could build you. Getting away from them to find yourself is what you decided, fine. I don't understand it, but I can sure respect it since it's your decision. I'm just saying though. You can find yourself in the people who cares for you, too. Not just out here with the strangers. So... give 'em chance, huh? Call Maya. Call Alfred. Call Jon. They all miss you. And they would love to hear from you. _Directly_ , Damian."

"I understand." Damian's voice is clipped. It takes him a full six seconds — too long — to realise he sounds strained. Affected.

"Yeah, think about it." Grayson smiles wistfully and for a moment, in a battered old shirt, he looks no more than an ordinary man. Nothing suspicious of him. Nothing to sound the alarm that he's dangerous aside from the bandages that's been wrapped and are poking under the sleeves and collar. "Until then, I've got my lil' brother all to myself till the sun rises. You're gonna show me where's the best place to get some local foods or what?"

It hadn't been an easy week, but — as Damian nods and begins to pick up keys and other necessary items — he argues that it could get worse.

(On the way home, he buys a phone. If Grayson notices anything, once again, he doesn't say.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. i really wanted this chapter to be the chapter damian finally broke his own rule and talked to jon. it was supposed to be an emotional (sorta?) reunion — even if it's over a phone or tablet or screen. but _eh_ guess this fic is taking over my brain than the other way around.
> 
> ii. idk how to write dick, and i think it shows. still, i did my best!
> 
> iii. feel free to request a drabble or a situation you'd like to see jon/damian in always! i'm happy to hear more ideas to challenge myself with :)


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